


The Three Degrees of Kenny McCormick

by zuotian



Category: South Park
Genre: Bottom Cartman, Come Swallowing, Crossdressing, Dialogue Heavy, Fighting, Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Sexual Tension, Superheroes, alter ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 19:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16393772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman fights his arch nemesis, and then has to settle with oral from his favorite hooker in the same night.Not that Kenny would understand.





	The Three Degrees of Kenny McCormick

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.
> 
> [see end notes for trigger warning]

The Coon was on his usual patrol. It was a cold, rainy night. He’d just entered Shi Tpa Town. The lights were all half busted, and threw random colors on the wet ground. He splashed through puddles carelessly.

Down the street, smoke rose from an abandoned lot. Shi Tpa Town ran rampant with vandalism and hobo congregations. Smoke could signify anything, least of all a structural fire. It was probably a prank pulled by the fifth graders, or meth heads breaking in their new loitering grounds. Whatever it was, the Coon would surely put a stop to it.

He came upon a chainlink fence surrounding the lot. Ignoring the faded NO TRESSPASSING sign, the Coon ducked behind a loose portion of the fence.

The lot was mostly empty, save for a small apartment complex. The complex was one-story, shaped like a horseshoe. All the windows were boarded, and the few parked cars had cinder blocks for tires.

The Coon walked ahead, his boots crunching over weeds, glass, and gravel. The smoke grew thicker, but he noticed it was emanating behind the building, not inside of it. He swept a cursory glance over all the boarded windows and doors; nary a curtain or lock was out of place.

The Coon moved to the side of the building, crouching low. He examined the paraphernalia around him: used syringes, used condoms, used beer cans. Everything was mottled with dirt and rain. None of the broken bits gleamed in the streetlights. It was all caked in mud, and had been for a long time.

There weren’t any new tenants, which meant no meth heads; it had to be the fifth graders.

Confident in his deduction, the Coon rose to his feet and walked around to the back. He expected to find a pack of pimpled tweens. Instead, he found a purple caped crusader. His arch nemesis.

Mysterion was sitting on an upturned milk crate, stoking a giant pile of embers.

The Coon took a cautious step forward, to see what Mysterion had burned. As he moved closer, the smokey scent became repugnant, and gory. Whatever Mysterion had set on fire was alive beforehand.

The Coon paused at this new development, his eyes never leaving Mysterion’s huddled figure.

“What are you doing?”

“A favor,” Mysterion said. “For you.”

The Coon crept closer, until he was on the opposite side of the pile. He took a knee and rubbed a cold ember between his fingers. Blood, fur, and bodily slime all smeared over his hand.

“No,” he said.

Mysterion laughed. He affected a relaxed posture, crossing his feet in front of the milk crate. “You’re welcome.”

“How did you know my plans,” the Coon demanded.

“I have sources,” Mysterion said, mysteriously.

“Bullshit!” The Coon rounded the pile in three strides, and stood above Mysterion’s stretched legs. “I’ve been planning the mass murder of Chaos’ hamsters for two months! It was confidential!”

“Not as confidential as you thought.”

The Coon took a step back in consideration. He’d kept his plans locked in his desk at his home. If Mysterion could break into his house—or had broken into his house already—what did that mean? Had he been in danger this whole time? What about his mother? Or, more importantly, his cat? If Mysterion could ruthlessly set a bunch of hamsters on fire, who knew what he could do to one old cat.

A short, metallic sound broke him out of his thoughts. Mysterion was flicking the wheel of his lighter, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He pocketed the lighter somewhere in his uniform, took the cigarette between his fingers while he exhaled, and smirked underneath his cowl.

The Coon began pacing up and down the length of the complex’s back wall. “How did you know Chaos’ storage unit lock?”

“I’m not telling you shit.”

“I tortured General Disarray,” the Coon said. “I’m the only one who knew the code besides those two.”

“Guess again.”

“Are you just out to ruin my whole fucking career?”

“What’s it matter? We’re both supposed to be heroes, right? Who cares which one of us takes down the bad guy.”

“I do! It’s my fucking reputation!”

“I’ve always been better than you,” Mysterion said.

The Coon shouted in rage. His voice echoed across the empty lot, and nobody was around to hear.

Except Mysterion.

“I hate you,” the Coon said.

“It’d be boring if you didn’t.”

“I’m going to kill you!”

Mysterion snorted. He tossed his cigarette on top of the dead hamster remains, then spread his arms out in invitation. “Come at me, bro.”

The Coon curled his hand into a fist, and swung at Mysterion’s grinning face. Mysterion rolled off the milk crate and to the ground, but popped back up into a defensive stance before the Coon could react.

“Fuck you,” the Coon said. He swiped again, open handed, and this time his metal claws nicked Mysterion’s jaw.

Mysterion recoiled, and brought a gloved hand to his face.

The Coon shuffled his feet, trying to predict Mysterion’s next move. Except, Mysterion didn’t move at all.

“What’s your deal?” the Coon asked. He slashed over Mysterion’s face again.

Blood started dripping down the side of Mysterion’s nose, to the corner of his mouth, to his chin.

The Coon made to hit him again, but Mysterion retaliated, finally. He dropped to one leg, swept his other leg across the Coon’s ankles. The Coon crashed to the ground. Glass and garbage and burnt hamster guts embedded his red cape.

He rolled out of the way, just as Mysterion’s boot stomped where his head had been. Mysterion changed tactics, and threw himself on top of the Coon.

“Idiot,” the Coon said. He used his larger frame to flip them around, and pinned Mysterion to the ground. “Fucking idiot!”

Mysterion smiled up at him. “What are you gonna do?”

The Coon’s grip faltered. What was he going to do? He almost wanted to fuck. Their fights always took a weird turn, and tonight was no exception.

“Shut up,” he said.

He put his knees on Mysterion’s chest, and clamped his hands around Mysterion’s neck. The claws on his thumbs dug into Mysterion’s jugular; a little bit more pressure, and he could kill the son of a bitch.

“Do it,” Mysterion wheezed.

The Coon was tempted. But he released Mysterion’s neck, and leaned back on his haunches.

Mysterion frowned and sat up, rubbing his chest. “What the hell?”

“You want me to,” the Coon said.

“Don’t you?”

“It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.”

Mysterion sighed. “You’re such a moron, Coon.” He pulled an old school pager from another hidden pocket and sent a message.

The Coon stiffened. “What are you doing? I wasn’t done!”

Mysterion let the pager beep for a few seconds. “It’s Disarray’s,” he explained.

“I know what it is!”

“Then you know who’s coming,” Mysterion said. He threw the pager on top of the burning pile.

The rain had worsened, and the smoke was depleted to nothing but ash. The Coon could barely hear Mysterion, but he could hear the sound of the chainlink fence being demolished from the other side of the lot. Of course Chaos had to come and kill his hate boner.

The Coon chased Mysterion over the back of the fence and out of the lot. But once they touched ground in Shi Tpa Town, the Coon knew they were in Mysterion’s turf, and lost him in seconds.

The Coon was wet, cold, dirty, and horny after a failed patrol and stalemate with Mysterion. There was only one solution to this.

He half-assedly parkoured back home and showered the blood and grime off of his body. Once he got dressed in civilian clothes, it was already midnight.

Most of South Park was dark and quiet, until he arrived at Peppermint Hippo. Here, the parking lot was crawling with pimps, married men, and scantily clad women. Cartman parked Liane’s minivan away from anybody else, and went inside.

The club pulsated with shitty dance music and purple lights. You couldn’t make out anyone’s discerning features. This was a plus for the girls, and the johns.

But Cartman was picky. He didn’t just fuck any slut. If he did, well, he’d have contracted AIDS a long time ago. No, he was a sophisticated man with sophisticated tastes.

He walked past the deejay booth and the pole dancers, all the way back to a curtained doorway. A bouncer blocked the way, acting all tough, even though Cartman was a known regular; or, as much of a regular as you could be in a business which prized anonymity.

“I want the princess,” Cartman said.

“She’s booked tonight, bud,” the bouncer told him.

Cartman scowled. “I’m not your buddy, pal. It’s been a shitty day for me, okay. Just tell her it’s me.”

The bouncer rolled his eyes, but knew how deep Cartman lined the Peppermint Hippo’s handbag—not to mention their crown jewel’s gaff. He went behind the curtain, and came back out in less than five minutes. “She’s ready,” he said. “Make it quick.”

Cartman parted the curtain, and stepped into a short hall. The music quieted behind him as he walked to the last door on the right. He knocked, as protocol, and didn’t open the door until he heard a voice sweet as church bells beckon him inside.

The princess was at her vanity. It was the only other piece of furniture besides a massive king sized bed.

“Hey, sweetie,” she greeted.

Cartman sat on the edge of the bed, and started taking off his shoes. “Your majesty.”

“You sound tired.”

“Had a bad day.”

“Really? Me too.”

The princess adjusted her long, blonde hair one last time and rose from her seat to stand before him. Cartman had to admit—she wasn’t at her best. Her makeup was smeared around her eyes, lipstick smudged, and when he looked closer he saw cuts all over her face.

“Ey! Who did this to you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just some asshole. He was here right before you came by.”

“Screw him.”

“I already did.”

“Good, then. You know,” Cartman said, “that’s what I like about you. You don’t need a pimp, right?”

“Nope,” the princess said. “Listen, I don’t got much time. I’m booked like crazy.”

“That’s okay.”

She straddled his lap. Her chiffon robe was undone, and spilled over Cartman’s sides.

The princess was Peppermint Hippo’s highest grossing girl, for a number of reasons. She was actually smart and hot, but most of all she was a tranny—the only tranny, a rare unicorn lost in the Colorado mountains. Cartman didn’t like women most of the time, but when he did he liked them with dicks, and the princess was the best chick with a dick of them all.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

Cartman broke out of his trance. “Sorry.”

He pulled her flush against himself, and stuffed his face into her fake breasts.

“Fuck me,” he begged.

She was already hard against his stomach. “Sorry, no dice. I said, I don’t got much time.”

“Please,” Cartman said.

“Relax.” She pushed him down onto his back, and crawled over his chest. Her robe flounced around like a pink ghost. “Open your mouth.”

Cartman complied. Adrenaline from the fight which took place not an hour ago came rushing back, and his hate for Mysterion turned into fascination with the princess.

She glowed in the colored lights, ethereal and angelic, and took her dick in hand like she was brandishing a sword. She started jacking it, one hand braced against the wall above Cartman’s head.

“Oh, princess,” Cartman moaned, bringing his hands up to her hips.

“No touching,” she snapped.

“Shit,” he hissed, and placed his palms flat on the bed. He hated the damn rules.

The princess’ eyes fell shut, and she bit her lip. Beads of precum dropped into Cartman’s awaiting mouth. He swallowed them with delight, pitching a tent at the clef of the princess’ ass, with the way she was sitting on him. She groaned at the sensation of his erection pressed against her, and keeled forward, picking up the pace.

“Yeah,” Cartman encouraged. “I want your cock, come on! Mfff!”

He was cut off by the princess shoving her dick into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks immediately and swirled his tongue the way he knew she liked, after years’ of patronage. She let go of his shoulder to slap her second hand against the wall, and lifted her hips so that when she fucked his mouth, her ass dragged back against his erection.

Cartman felt her balls draw up against his chin, but she pulled out and staved off her ejaculation with miraculous abdomen control and a drawn out whine.

“Say it,” she panted, staring down at him white-eyed.

“Princess, please cum on me, your majesty, please—”

She moaned. White stripes of cum shot into Cartman’s mouth, nose, and eyes. He started licking it off his face, before she even finished.

But all good things come to an end. The princess slid off of him and tied her robe shut.

“Fifty bucks,” she said.

The door opened. The princess looked up, then back at Cartman.

Somebody walked to the bed. “When you let a tranny cum on your face, don’t forget to bring a towel!”

“Thanks, Towelie,” the princess said. She handed Cartman the proffered towel.

He wiped his face, then gave it back to Towelie, who left just as promptly.

“Fifty bucks,” the princess repeated.

“Right—” Cartman pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He gave her two twenties and a ten.

She lead him to the door. “Have a good night,” she said, and paused. “Will you be back again tomorrow?”

“Long as you’re here.”

The princess grinned. “I’m always here.”

“Tomorrow, then. Yeah.”

Cartman left the Peppermint Hippo with a new skip in his step. When he returned home to finally go to bed, it was with a smile on his face and peace in his heart.

He awoke the next morning sore, yet refreshed. But his mood soured once he found Kenny downstairs, asleep on the living room couch.

“Wake up, assclown,” he said.

Kenny opened an eye, smiling.

“Faker,” Cartman accused. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I told you, on business.” Kenny sat up and stretched. He was in his usual garb of tattered orange. Cartman noticed wounds on his face.

“What the hell kind of business?”

“Just business. It’s really boring, I promise. But!” Kenny excitedly rifled through his pockets, and tossed three bills onto the coffee table. “I made fifty bucks.”

“So, you’re gone for a whole day, and all you came up with his fifty bucks.”

“No, that’s just from last night.” Kenny shoved a hand down his pants, and unearthed a stack of money, folded in half and secured with a rubberband. “I actually made a thousand.”

Cartman stared at the money in curiosity, like it would disappear if he blinked.

“What did you do all yesterday when I was gone?” Kenny asked.

“Uh—nothing.”

“Sure.”

“Well,” Cartman said, “you’re here now. Wanna fuck?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Kenny said. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tw: cartman calls "the princess" a tranny, but it's all in good fun; i'm a trans author, so, i can't get bleeped out! dont be a pc baby.] 
> 
> this was a mix of prompts:
> 
> https://southparkkink.livejournal.com/529.html?thread=425489#t425489
> 
> https://southparkkinkmeme.tumblr.com/openrequests (#17 and #30)
> 
> trying to write more, and i guess that means cartman/kenny fic every day. theyre just too fun, and have totally eclipsed my other sp ships.


End file.
